When I was alive,
I believed — as you do —
that time was at least as real and solid as myself,
and probably more so.
I said 'one o'clock'
as though I could see it,
and 'Monday'
as though I could find it on the map;
and I let myself be hurried along
from minute to minute,
day to day, year to year,
as though I were actually moving from one place to another.
Like everyone else,
I lived in a house
bricked up with seconds and minutes,
weekends and New Year's Days,
and I never went outside until I died,
because there was no other door.
Now I know that
I could have walked through the walls.
... You can strike your own time,
and start the count anywhere.
When you understand that —
then any time at all will be the right time for you.
— Peter S. Beagle,
              The Last Unicorn